


espresso

by decidingdolan



Series: your words (my songs) [3]
Category: Sing Street (2016)
Genre: M/M, RPF, treat them with the utmost respect guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 08:34:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7794841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decidingdolan/pseuds/decidingdolan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A (Ferdia) selfie a day is a shot of black coffee to Mark's head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	espresso

**Author's Note:**

> Ferdia posted this picture in his Instagram stories, and the entire Thai Sing Street fandom went berserk. We miss him. We really do. 
> 
> https://twitter.com/msdasein/status/765538966938411008
> 
> Started talking to @apple_winter on twitter about Ferdia as Mark's shot of black coffee and this is how it began.

Note: 

Normal text - Mark's reactions

_Italics_ \- Mark's inner thoughts

_**Bold Italics**_ \- Ferdia's texts

**Bold** \- Mark's texts

 

Irish slang:

Craic = fun

Class = nice

 

* * *

 

_With you, intimacy colours my voice. Even ‘hello’ sounds like ‘come here’._

_\--Warsan Shire_

 

* * *

 

 

_Send. Don’t send. Send._

_Send._

_What’s wrong with a line of text? Just to say hello. It’s been_ days. _It’s okay, McKenna. He probably won’t notice._

You’re sprawled out on the lone sofa in someone’s house, legs out on the table. The band’s broken up for lunch. Checked Instagram and what did you see but The Kid.

Wrestle with your thoughts and decide to send him the text.

_Well, if what they say is true. You only live once, right?_

 

**You woke me up. Thanks. – M**

**_You were asleep? It’s two in the afternoon! – F_ **

**Kind of. Not really. Just needed a strong cup of coffee, ‘s all. – M**

**_Practicing with the band? Heard you got the gig at Whelan’s. Class. – F_ **

**Yea, thanks thanks. – M**

**You up to much? – M**

**_The usual. Music, family, stuff. You know. – F_ **

 

_No, don’t. Don’t type “I don’t” goddamnit. Don’t encourage him._

Your phone vibrates again. Saved by the ringtone.

 

**_What did you mean, btw. Didn’t text you. – F_ **

 

_Stupid fucker. Ah._ And you slap your forehead, because how the hell did you let it slip that you were checking up on him? Weak. You’re out of practice. So out.

 

**Instagram. – M**

 

_Yeah, keep on being cool. Keep on fooling yourself. The kid’s tearing you apart._

_Somewhat._

You might have grabbed the phone faster than you thought you would this time.

 

**_Oh. That. – F_ **

****

**_Was bored. The light was nice. Trying out the camera. Etc. etc. – F_ **

 

And you’re pushing your hair back, leaning against the sofa. Turning lines and lines of texts over in your head. What to type. What to type.

Five minutes, says your brain. Give me five.

 

**You don’t look too shabby. – M**

 

Now that’s a piece of poetry.

(After so many damn revisions.)

 

But your efforts are brutally crushed with his reply.

 

**_Only because you’re keeping me so honest. – F_ **

 

_The kid’s doing it again. Flirting with you. How dare he._

_If he wants to play it that way…_

You suck in a breath, and type.

 

**I have to. I don’t get to say that to your face every day anymore. – M**

 

_Oh. God,_ you’re realizing, as you press, ‘Send,’ and your heart drops. _What do you even sound like about now, McKenna? Desperate much?_

**_Admit it. You miss me. – F_ **

 

_This bloody kid. This bloody charmer of a talker (your thoughts don’t even make sense anymore) kid…_

**You’re siding with yourself again. – M**

 

_That’s a good rebute, right? You should win an award._

His next reply sends your processing system into a mini-breakdown.

 

**_Well,_ I _miss you. – F_**

 

You shut your eyes, fast. Heat again. Tainted cheeks. What _is it_ with this kid?

 

_What’re you supposed to say to that? I miss you too? Cheesy as hell. No way. You’ve got the upper hand here._

**You’re still wearing that stupid ring. – M**

 

_Change of subject, smart. Great job, self._

He seems to have a different approach in mind.

 

**_Why not? - F_ **

****

**_‘s stupid enough that nobody notices it but you. – F_ **

****

B U S T E D. You raise a hand. The ring’s shine seem to be winking at you from your finger.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

 

**You got me. – M**

 

_It’s the only natural response, right?_

**_Always do :)_ ** **_\- F_ **

 

_AHH STUPID SMILEY FACE. AHH._

_McKenna, you’re ruined. You’re ruined_

 

One, two, three. Deep breaths. You can deal with this, of course you can.

You’re being tormented by a sixteen-year-old. The world’s fair until it isn’t. Life goes on. Guitars go out of tune. Drum sets break. Ferdia’s miles away, and you’re doing okay.

It’s all fine.

 

**You know you say that way too often, right? – M**

 

**_Just mentioning the truth. – F_ **

****

**_And you can’t hear me. – F_ **

****

**_Not now, anyway. – F_ **

****

He’s always been the type for short, rapid messages. That’s his signature.

It’s all fine.

And then your phone sings. Vibrates and sings.

‘Ferdia’ is calling.

 

_Shit._

 

His voice seeps into your ears the second you press, ‘Accept call.’

“You’re hearing me now,” he’s saying, almost sing-song, and you find yourself wondering— _what the hell were you doing? The kid’s far away. Too far._ “How’s it?”

“Good,” you say, blunt. Biting your bottom lip. Words unsaid are words unsaid.

Ferdia’s laughing. You almost can picture him in your mind, pink cheeks, thin lips. Bright eyes. Curved hips, slim legs.

_God, this is terrible._

_This is worse than just plain bad._

“Lucky you,” he continues (he knows your one-word answers too well), “I’m good too, to save you from asking. Making plans with Ian to meet up. You should join.”

You’re playing with a strand of your hair. It’s grown shoulder-length (good). You’re thinking of Ferdia’s (bad). “Maybe,” you reply, “Maybe I’ll see you again one of these days.”

You see him in his room, hand brushing his hair back and plunking down on that chair he loves. Long legs crossed and v-neck shirt clinging to that lithe frame.

 

_This isn’t just missing._

_McKenna, you need help._

 

“Don’t say maybe,” there’s that cheerfulness again. You can’t not recognize his voice. The lovely tenor, the mellow tone. His falsetto. “Just come.”

“Okay,” you’re saying before you can make sense of your scattered mind, “Okay I will. Let me know, ok?”

Ferdia’s humming a tune, and you can distinctly make out a _Pokey LaFarge_ melody.

“Cool,” he says, “It’ll be great craic!”

“Hope so,” you’re smiling now. _Stop. Stop it, while you still can._

“Gotta go—ta—“

And all should have ended well, exit through the planned route, be escorted and disappear, until you hear yourself saying:

“Thanks for the coffee.”

A break in the conversation. Static. You imagine him chewing on his lip.

When he comes back on, it’s three confused words.

_Great job, self._

“Okay…um….which?”

“Coffee. You,” you’re running a hand through your hair. _Goddamn. This is a hassle_. “I mean, ( _how to put this?_ ) seeing you—“

“—you know we can always Skype, right?”

_Oh no, Ferds. You did not just go there._

“Yes. There’s—yeah, I gotta go too.”

He’s smiling on the other side, you’re willing to bet your life.

“Ta, Mark. Don’t be a stranger, a’right?”

And now he’s got you smiling too.

“Never,” you say.

Sigh. He waits, like he knows you're digging up them words from your throat.

“I miss you, Ferds.”

_Finally. Did that hurt much?_

_(Yes.)_

“Miss you too.” The response is immediate.

He chuckles then, “Finally got you to say it, huh.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you counter, “Ta, Ferds. Bye, really. Bye.”

“Bye. See you soon!”

 

_Three words. That’s all it takes._

_Three words, to echo in your ears as you hang up the call, Ferdia’s voice obvious and ringing._

_McKenna, what should they ever do with you?_

**Author's Note:**

> I rarely write RPF's, because I never want to break the fourth wall and live in fear of a breakdown when actors one day discovering this. I respect them, very much, so please let's be on the same page and be understanding when I say this: These are complete FICTIONALIZED versions of Ferdia and Mark in my head. We've no idea how they actually are as persons. The interactions, the exchanges, the thoughts are all imagined and made up. Treat them as imaginary Ferdia and Mark, with their exact likenesses and mannerisms, interacting. For all we know, we know nothing.
> 
> Thank you so much for stopping by, reading, and reviewing!  
> x


End file.
